


sorry i didn't mention

by ThaliaClio



Series: cracked mirrors [2]
Category: Constantine (TV), Criminal Minds: Suspect Behavior, Hellblazer & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, And Chas too, And it's the twins' birthday!, Birthday, But mostly a character study, Character Study, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Fluff, For John and Mick, John is a puppy, Maybe a little angst, Mick and John are twins because Matt Ryan's face, Mick does yoga, Mid-Canon, Mid-Series for CM:SB, Pre-Series, Pre-Series for Constantine, Still mostly cannon, They drink kind of a lot, They're all family, Twins, but you should, pretty much fluff, you don't need to read 'i'm glad you didn't know' to get it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2014-11-23
Packaged: 2018-02-26 17:25:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2660285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThaliaClio/pseuds/ThaliaClio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mick Rawson and John Constantine are twins. The BAU doesn't know this. Oh look, it's someone's birthday. </p><p>(In which Chas lost an eyebrow, the Sex Pistols are better than The Clash, and Mick should've shared his hangover cure.)</p><p>*If you haven't seen CM:SB, the notes at the beginning explain the characters. Also, you should go watch it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sorry i didn't mention

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into English available: [抱歉我没提起过……](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3252083) by [justlikeit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/justlikeit/pseuds/justlikeit)



> Sam Cooper (Played by Forest Whittaker): Team leader. Very zen but also kind of intense.  
> Beth Griffith (Played by Janeane Garofalo): Second in command. Cynical and snarky and very professional.  
> Jonothan 'Prophet' Cooper (Played by Michael Kelly): New SSA. Casual and friendly and very open about his past.  
> Gina LaSalle (Played by Beau Garrett): SSA. Smart and snarky and has something to prove.  
> Mick Rawson (Played by Matt Ryan): SSA and former sniper for British Special Forces. Flirty and witty but ambiguous about his past. (Canon says nothing about yoga; that's all me.)
> 
> In the spin-off the BAU team is less conventional than the BAU team in the original Criminal Minds, but they serve essentially the same purpose.

Chas isn’t a difficult guy. He likes John; they’ve been friends for a long, long time. John lets himself like Chas because Chas has a special set of... survival skills. John does good things -- for the most part. He also has the self-preservation instincts of a mayfly half of the time. Chas watches out for him because John is his friend who does mostly good things and is too preoccupied with the big picture to remember things like food.

“Eat,” he says firmly, setting down a plate of spaghetti.

“Mmm,” John replies. He’s copying some spell or other from a grimoire. In blood. Onto lambskin. At the breakfast table.

Chas sighs.

“Fine, fine,” John says. He drops the pen and picks up the fork without bothering to wash his hands.

Chas decides one victory is enough and doesn’t bother fighting that battle.

“I’m going to see Mick tomorrow,” John says offhandedly, mouth still full of pasta.

“Don’t talk with food in your mouth,” Chas says automatically, carefully swallowing his own food before speaking. “Your brother? He’s in DC.”

“Mm,” John agrees, swallowing pointedly. “I’m here anyway. Might as well pop by.”

“We’re in New York.”

“Greyhound.”

Chas eyes John. He’s now thoroughly engrossed by his breakfast. Chas sighs.

“Keep your judgmental sighs to yourself, you bastard,” John mumbles to his plate. Finally he groans, looking up to meet Chas’s eyes. “It’s our birthday, alright?”

Chas can’t help but chuckle. “Go call Mick before we go out tonight.”

John smiles widely. Chas knows he wasn’t asking for permission, would have been angry if Chas had implied that’s what he wanted, but Chas knows John well enough to know that he’s happy to have implicit permission anyway.

“Yes, mummy,” he says with a sardonic salute.

They both turn back to their plates smiling a little.

By the end of the evening John is covered in ash and Chas is missing an eyebrow, but the demon is gone and nobody else died. They’re back at the motel, and John's getting redressed after showering. Chas is examining the skin where his eyebrow was. He looks up when John comes out of the bathroom, shirt half-buttoned.

“You never did call Mick.”

“Nope,” John says, popping the ‘p’. “Birthday surprise.”

“Bus won’t get there until after 1 if it’s on schedule. He gonna be up?”

“He’s my twin brother.”

Which means yes.

Chas shakes his head a little. “Take a cab to the station.”

John looks up from his packing, a little perplexed. “You’re not coming?”

Chas very pointedly does not say that John looks like a puppy. He does, but Chas doesn’t say it. “I’ve gotta finish wiping our tracks here. I’ll try and catch another bus tomorrow.”

John’s expression had fallen for a beat, but he smiled again when Chas said he was going to come the next day. Puppy.

“I’ll let Mick know.” John is up and across the room before Chas can blink. “Later, mate.”

Chas laughs and shakes his head as John pulls the door closed behind him, trench coat swishing in the breeze. _Puppy_.

\--

John knows he should call Mick and let him know he’ll be there in a few hours, but he’s tired and the bus is empty and the road is calming and he falls asleep.

He dreams.

_Screaming. “Come back!”_

_A warm hand in his. “We’re going to be okay.”_

_Crying. “Come back!”_

_A tight hug. “I have to go.”_

_Cursing. “Come back!”_

_A warm pint. “I’m glad you’re home.”_

When he wakes up, he doesn’t know if it was a dream or a nightmare, but he knows he overslept. It’s 12:45am, and the bus will be arriving in half an hour and Mick still doesn’t know he’s coming.

He pulls out his phone and dials.

“Are you still trying to center your chi?” He says by way of greeting.

 _“Fuck you,”_ comes his brother’s cheerful reply.

“Well that’s no way to say hello to your dear brother.”

 _“You started it this time_ ,” Mick laughs. _“Tell me who stole your lunch money now.”_

“I’m on a Greyhound bus twenty minutes away from DC.”

For a second there’s silence, and John feels a bolt of worry. Maybe Mick’s on a case. Maybe he’s busy. Maybe he—

 _“You’re lucky. We just got back. Give me twenty.”_ John can hear the smile through the phone, and he knows he’s grinning too.

“Excellent. Bring coffee.”

He hears a _click_ a split second before he hangs up himself. When he leans back against the chair, he’s still smiling.

\--

It’s been a long day. It’s dark. He’s not sure why everybody is still in the gym’s conference room, but they are. Coop is staring at nothing. Beth is pretending to fill out paperwork. Gina is sipping absently at a cup of coffee long gone cold. Mick is rocking hard in a chair not meant to rock. And Prophet, well, he’s staring at them. Nobody’s spoken since they sat down, and the only noise is the creaking of Mick’s chair and the scratching of Beth’s pen.

“Anybody care to join me?” Mick suddenly stands, voice shockingly loud after the silence.

“What are you doing?” Beth asks. Her being the first to respond is a testament to how little attention she had been paying the paperwork.

“Yoga,” he says with a grin.

Prophet snorts. “Not even Coop and Gina can keep up with your pretzel-ing.”

“Pretzel-ing? Really, mate? Even I know that’s not a real word.”

Nobody says anything else when Mick steps out of the office and into the gym. Prophet watches him sidestep into the locker room, no doubt to change out of his jeans.

The silence seems even thicker without Mick rocking in his chair. For the next few minutes there is no sound. Even Beth has stopped writing.

“Gina?” Coop says just as Mick exits the locker room. “Care for a match?”

“Yeah,” she says quickly.

Beth and Prophet meet eyes. Prophet raises one brow and Beth shrugs, so they get up to follow their team into the gym.

Mick is off to the side, standing bent in half with legs completely straight and hands flat on the floor. He’s wearing sweatpants and is shirtless and barefoot. Prophet smothers a little bolt of self-consciousness when Mick straightens, abs flexing. Mick ignores them, breathing deeply and steadily as he repeats the movement a few more times, even when Coop and Gina start slapping their rattan sticks against one another.

“You look ridiculous, brother,” Prophet calls out to Mick, more for something to say than anything else.

Mick smiles, shifting positions again. He has one foot on the ground, the other curled over his head and held by one hand. He uses his free arm to flip Prophet the bird. “Women love a man with some flexibility, mate.”

Beth shrugs. “He’s not wrong. Less work for us.”

A sharp ringing sound cuts into the air. Coop and Gina barely even pause in their movements, both intent on winning, and Mick – miraculously, in Prophet’s opinion – doesn’t even wobble. Beth and Prophet both look for the source of the noise, but Beth pinpoints it first after the third ring.

“Somebody wants to talk to you, Mr. Flexible.”

Mick shifts again so that both hands are holding the foot. Prophet’s back hurts in sympathy. “Don’t much feel like another rough night tonight.”

“One of your dates a little annoyed?” Gina calls out from the floor. Coop had apparently won when Prophet wasn’t paying attention.

“I’d be happy to answer it for you,” Prophet says even as he steps over to the coat slung over one of the benches. “Who’s Jo—“

He’s about to press Answer when the Blackberry is plucked from his hand. He blinks in shock when he see Mick standing in front of him grinning a little manically. He didn’t understand how Mick had gotten down from his pose without hurting himself and run over so quickly without Prophet noticing.

“I got it, thanks.”

Prophet steps back, arms held up in surrender as Mick clicks Answer, but still stays close enough to catch bits of the other end.

“Fuck you,” Mick says cheerfully.

Everyone stops moving.

 _“—no way to say h—“_ is all Prophet can catch. He thinks he hears an accent, maybe.

Mick sees him looking and subtly steps away.

“You started it this time,” Mick laughs, turning away so they can’t see his face. “Tell me who stole your lunch money now.” He runs a hand through already messy hair. Prophet doesn’t think he owns a comb. “You’re lucky. We just got back. Give me twenty.” And then he hangs up, turning back around to face his frozen team.

“My sister’s in town,” he says by way of explanation as he moves back to his coat.

“Jenna?” Beth asks dubiously.

Mick smiles like she just told a joke. “Yeah. I need to pick her up from the airport.” He’s already heading back towards the locker room, gone before anyone can add anything.

“Anybody ever met his sister?” Gina asks, on her feet now.

Prophet shakes his head. “Coop?”

Coop shakes his head, too. “Doesn’t really talk about her much.”

Prophet is strangely comforted by the fact that he’s not the only one still in the dark.

Beth opens her mouth to add something, but then Mick’s back, door banging open. He’s back in his ‘work’ clothes, jeans and hoodie and overcoat. It's the fastest Prophet's ever seen him change, barring a case.

Mick raises an eyebrow at them. “My ears are burning.” He looks at Coop, shifting his bag on his shoulder. “If there’s nothing else?..”

Coop waves him off. “No, go ahead.”

Mick nods at him seriously before grinning sardonically and bowing. “Ladies. Boss. Underling.”

He’s gone before Prophet can respond to the jab. Prophet sighs.

“Ass.”

Beth snorts from beside him. “Yeah. Wonder if his sister’s anything like him.”

\--

“You’re a fuckwit and I hate you,” Mick announces as soon as his sibling comes into view.

John smiles widely at his brother. Mick is leaning against a wall, two cups of coffee in hand. It's been a while since Mick's been to a Greyhound bus stop, and he's a little pleased to not that for once John and Mick aren’t the shabbiest looking in the crowd. John has donned his traditional rumbled suit and red tie. There’s a duffle over one shoulder, his dirty trench coat slung over top the sack.

John drops the bag and coat and hugs his brother tightly. Despite his coarse greeting and the cups in his hand, Mick returns the hug just as enthusiastically, grateful he remembered to put lids on the cups as he feels the liquid slosh.

“Watch it! Watch it!” Mick says after a beat. “I have two cups of diabetes for us, and you’re wearing white. God knows why – we both know it’ll end up bloody and muddy by the second wear.”

John releases his brother with a firm pat and steps back, allowing Mick to look into a familiar face, still smiling. It’s familiar not only because they grew up together. It’s literally his face. Not only does his team think his brother John is his sister Jenna, but they are woefully unaware that his brother John is his _twin_ brother John.

If he didn't feel bad about lying, Mick would be insanely amused. (He still is. Just a little.)

“Still can’t fix the hair then, then?” Mick asks teasingly, handing over one of the cups.

John stoops to pick up his things. “Gotta tell us apart somehow. I’ve been told it suits me.”

“You just did it for the band, and we both know it,” Mick shoots back.

“Well, yes. But the spell was supposed to be temporary and it's at least halfway your fault. And it still makes me look bloody attractive.”

“We have the same face – we’re plenty attractive with brunette hair.”

John and Mick start walking, sipping at the too sweet coffee.

“Mm. Irish coffee?” John asks, licking his lips.

“Of course. Cab’s this way.”

John hums, climbing into the promised cab after his brother. Mick tells the cabbie an address before leaning back. For a moment neither of them say anything.

“You seriously came all this way for our birthday?” Mick says, looking out the window.

“Was my turn,” John responds, looking out his window. They make eye contact in the reflection for a second before looking away. “Me and Chas were in New York anyway. He’s going to try and come down tomorrow, by the way. And this is only one year from our big 3-0. We’re going to drunkenly pass out together in person instead of drunk dialing at odd times because the time zones don’t match up.”

Mick smiles widely and turns towards his brother. John does the same. They both laugh a little and settle back comfortably.

“We’re getting old,” Mick says.

“Speak for yourself, mate. I’m still young and spry.”

Mick chuffs out a laugh before groaning.

“What?” John asks, not bothering to turn.

“My team.”

“What about them?”

“They’re very…” Mick stops, looking for the right word. “Involved, I suppose. They’re going to be upset if I ditch them without an explanation.”

“Bring ‘em along.” John suggests. “Love to meet the fine gentlefolk who watch out for your sorry Welsh arse.”

Mick shift uncomfortably, and John shoots him a look. “They don’t know about you.”

“That I’m John Constantine? I didn’t think my reputation had spread quite that far. Though Chas and I have taken a few cases this side of the ocean. He likes to visit his family sometimes, when Renee isn't being a cunt,” he adds by way of explanation, grimacing like there's a bad taste in his mouth when he says the woman's name.

Mick decides not to touch that last bit. Maybe later, with alcohol. “What – your reputation as a 'Master of the Dark Arts’? You accidentally _permanently_ spelled your hair to be blonde.”

“I was twelve! And _you_ dared me to do it,” John cries out defensively, his Irish coffee sloshing dangerously in its Styrofoam cup. Mick is grateful for the lid again. Then a little more petulantly, “I like it.”

“Yes, you’re very dashing.”

“Don’t avoid the question, mate,” John says with a glare.

Mick sighs. “No, they don’t know about your preternatural inclinations. But that’s not what I meant. They think you’re my sister, Jenna.”

John chokes on his next sip, but pauses before he speaks. “Not as insulting as it could have been. She almost came up, too, you know. Do they even know you’re adopted?”

“Why didn’t she?”

“Husband – what’s his name? Nathan – broke his leg in a car accident. She’s taking care of him.”

Mick nods. “I’ll call her tonight.”

“Don’t skate around the question again. Do they even know you’re adopted?”

Mick shifts uncomfortably. “Coop might. The rest of ‘em definitely don’t.”

“So much for trusting them.”

Mick shakes his head and ruffles his hair again. “It’s not that. I don’t want them knowing what you do, mate. You’re already walking a fine line. You don’t need the FBI, let alone the BAU, looking into some of the shite you pull. You and Chas don’t have any warrants for Interpol or the FBI – believe me, I check – and I’d very much like to not tempt fate.”

John opens his mouth to say something harsh and caustic, but pauses. Anybody else, even Chas, and he would have torn them apart, and Mick knows this. But they’re _brothers_ , despite being adopted by different families, so he doesn’t.

“Yeah, I get it,” John finally says, sounding a little resigned. He deflates against the seat. “So what are we going to do tomorrow? Should I call Chas and tell him I’ll meet him at home instead?”

Mick shakes his head vehemently. “Fuck no. Don’t be an arse. I’ll just have to talk to them tomorrow before we go out. I have to show off the DC bar scene.”

John re-inflates, smiling broadly. “What’re you going to tell them?”

Mick considers for a moment. “Nothing, really. That I’m taking my _sister_ ” – John smacks Mick on the chest – “around DC.” Mick punches John in the shoulder.

“Tomorrow’s a Thursday,” John says as he rubs his arm. “Don’t you have work to work for the Man?”

Mick makes a face. “Well, technically. But I’ll just go in early and finish up the paperwork from our last case.”

“One of _us_? Going to work _early_? And they’ll believe that?”

Micks sighs. “I’ll think of something. Tell them you-Jenna’s an early bird or you-she is excited or something.”

“How eloquent. Maybe you should meditate on it.”

“Yoga and meditation are not the same thing, mate. Yoga is _useful_.”

“Yeah, well, you say The Clash, I say Sex Pistols,” John says with a shrug. "Difference only matters when it matters to you, eh?"

“I never said there wasn't a difference. There is. The Clash lasted a decade – Sex Pistols couldn’t even make it a full three years.”

“Oh fuck off. It’s about the influence, Mickey! The _influence_!”

Neither of the brothers hear the cabbie chuckling over the ensuing argument. He turns up the radio dial until the sound of David Allen Coe drowns out their accented voices.

\--

The next day and Beth is more than a little annoyed. She’s gotten used to be the second one to the office. Sam Cooper is _always_ at the office. But _Mick Rawson_ beat her to work. Mick is _always_ the last one in. But here he is, 7:14am, shirtless and doing something difficult looking that involves putting all his weight on his forearms and holding his legs curled over his head in the air.

“Moooooorning,” he calls out, painfully chipper.

“Good morning,” she greets cautiously. She stares at him until she’s through the coded office door and face-to-face with her boss. “When did Mick get here?”

Sam looks a little perplexed too. “He was here when I got here.”

Beth’s eyebrows shoot straight up. “ _Why_?”

He just shakes his head. “Let’s just do our paperwork.”

And, for the next 16 minutes, that’s exactly what they do. Then Gina and John are there, looking at confused as Beth had earlier.

“Is that Mick at work early?” Jon asks.

“Yup,” Beth pops the ‘p’. “Got here before me _and_ Sam.”

Gina and Jon’s eyebrows both try to disappear into their hairlines. And that’s quite the accomplishment for the balding agent.

“Is that his paperwork in the ‘Done’ bin?” Gina says incredulously.

“I’m a regular worker bee.”

Speak of the devil and he shall appear, Beth thinks darkly. Mick is standing in the doorway, still shirtless and barefoot and painfully chipper. He’s smiling widely. He looks happier than Beth’s ever seen him, actually. She narrows her eyes.

“What the hell, man?” Jon says.

Mick shrugs. “I told you my sister was in town. I came in early to finish up and get in a workout before she woke up. Those time zones will mess you up,” he finishes with a knowing nod.

“Okay then,” Beth says carefully. Mick is happy, clearly, but he’s being _weird_ , for lack of a better word.

“Well, if there’s nothing else?..” Mick is looking at Sam, arms spread in question.

It takes him a second, but Sam shakes his head. “No, no. Go – spend time with your sister.”

“Ladies, gentlemen,” Mick says with a subtle bow of the head and salute of the fingers. Then he spins out of the room.

The team stays quiet as he steps into the locker room. Gina is the first to speak.

“Did he seem weird to you guys?”

“Not a bad weird, but yeah,” Jon says, still looking through the window to the gym. “Like he wasn’t telling us something.”

“Or like we were missing something.”

Beth hadn’t even noticed Sam get on his laptop, but there he is staring up at the screen. The TV was projecting Sam’s laptop, pulled open to Mick’s file. A really disturbing portion of the half page is redacted, but Beth already knew that. For a moment Beth doesn’t know what they’re looking at, but then –

“It’s his birthday today.”

Gina squints at the screen. “He’s not even thirty? God, I feel old.”

Jon snorts. “Like you can talk, sister.”

Gina looks at Beth, Sam, and Jon and shrugs. “Still. I didn’t know he was so young.”

“At least we know why he was being so –“ Beth cuts herself off, making a vague hand gesture in front of her.

Sam still looks pensive. “Why didn’t he say anything?”

Nobody gets the chance to answer before the locker room door bangs open again. Mick looks at them through the window, back in his customary boots and jeans and hoodie, and waves goodbye. He’s still smiling brightly, clearly excited.

“Wanted to spend time with his sister without us?” Jon suggests, maybe a little wounded looking.

Beth feels a dart in her heart too. “But when have you ever known Mick to pass up on a little extra attention or free drinks? Because we all know he could have – and would have – talked every single one of us into buying at least one round. ”

“We could call him,” Gina suggests. “Tonight maybe? Invite him and his sister?”

“Sure,” Sam says, still halfway distracted and thoughtful. “For now we have work.”

\--

Prophet and Beth and Gina and Coop are all sitting at a booth in the bar, beers in hand. Garcia couldn’t make it on account of a case for Hotch’s team, but she told Gina to tell Mick “Happy Birthday” (plus several vaguely sexual and flirtatious addendums) on her behalf. And Gina would. If Mick would answer his phone.

She and everyone else had tried calling him, only to get a voicemail.

_“If this is work, call my other phone. If this is personal, leave a message. I’m a little busy tonight, so I’ll call back in the morning. Afternoon. Whenever the bloody hell I manage to wake up.”_

Everyone agreed the message was a more than a little weird. Mick, while casual, was generally more professional. But it was Mick’s voice – though he did sound a little slurred – so they couldn’t exactly say anything other than he and his sister must’ve gotten an early start.

They all wished him a happy birthday and then sat down to celebrate sans birthday boy. Gina was still confused, and it looked like everyone else was too.

Prophet is telling some story about Mick tripping down a hill when Gina hears a familiar voice over the sound of the Rolling Stones song in the background.

“Can I make a song request, barkeep?”

“Is that Mick?” she asks incredulously.

Immediately the entire booth spun their heads to follow her finger. Standing at the bar is indeed Mick. But his hair is distinctly blonde. And he’s in a suit.

“What the fuck,” Prophet says.

“Is he _blonde_?” Gina’s sure if she turned around Beth would be gaping, but she can’t.

Apparently the ‘barkeep’ was fine with Mick making a song request, because “Sympathy for the Devil” cuts out, replaced by something punky and fast that Gina doesn’t recognize.

“Mick likes The Clash more than the Sex Pistols,” Coop suddenly says.

The three of them all make a noise of confusion, turning to face their boss. He’s already standing, though, drifting over to Mick at the bar.

Mick is _singing_. Badly, Gina thinks, but all the same. Mick. Is singing. In public.

Mick is confident in two things – his skills as a sniper and investigator and his ‘dating’ skills. In public he speaks more quietly. He wears hoodies pulled down over his hands. He fades into the background because he chooses to. What he does not do is wear a well fitted suit, dye his hair blonde, and drunkenly sing two blocks away from where he works.

Mick hasn’t seen Coop yet, and Gina thinks that’s probably a good thing. Because 5 seconds after Coop stands, Gina starts seeing double.

There’s Mick _again_. But now his hair is brown and he’s wearing a hoodie and a leather jacket and jeans. He’s leaning against the bar and laughing at Blonde Mick, waving his beer in time with the bass.

“You guys are seeing what I’m seeing, right?” she asks over her shoulder.

“Uh-huh,” Beth and Prophet say simultaneously.

\--

Mick is drunk. So is John, he knows, but Mick hasn’t really been drunk _and_ happy in a while. John is singing and dancing a little, even, and Mick is laughing. If he were sober he would be recording this or maybe even stopping him, but he’s not so he isn’t.

“Oh shite,” he suddenly says, grabbing John’s arm.

“What the blo—“ John asks, swaying a little.

“Mick,” comes a voice from behind John.

Coop is standing there, watching him and his brother. John stumbles a little to turn, meeting Coop’s carefully curious face. John quickly arranges his face just as carefully to be sober. It’s actually kind of impressive considering the two of them haven't stopped drinking since 8am.

“Who’s you friend?” Coop asks, voice soft and agreeable like he’s interviewing a suspect.

Mick knows it and John can deduce it and both of their hackles rise. Mick can feel John’s arm tense under his hand, and he can feel his own muscles tighten.

“Kid?” Coops asks again when neither of the brothers answer him.

“Cat’s out of the bag, mate,” Mick finally says, forcing himself to relax. It’s just Coop. He would die for the man, kill for him. John does the same, trusting Mick.

“What cat and what bag?” And there’s Prophet. And Beth. And Gina.

John goes taut again. Mick’s almost positive that his hand is the only thing that is keeping his brother in place.

Mick knows that John is more confident that he is on a normal kind of day. But John’s normal kind of day consists of supernatural forces trying to kill him. Compared to that, most people don’t seem threatening. But John is drunk and impaired and in unfamiliar territory confronted with non-supernatural, clearly trained unfamiliar people.

Mick tightens his grip, trying as hard as he can to convey _relax_.

“John, this is my team,” he says. John loosens just a little. “That’s Sam Cooper, Beth Griffith, Gina LaSalle, and Jon Simms. We call him Prophet.” John nods with each name, relaxing inch by inch. “Guys, this is John. My brother.”

Even though he knows they must’ve put two and two together, all four of them react. Cooper nods a little too slowly. Prophet’s eyebrows make a break for his receding hairline. Beth blinks rapidly. Gina opens her mouth to speak but stops, shaking her head.

Out of the corner of his eyes, John smiles because Mick knows these people and has told John about these people. The ground isn’t so unfamiliar and he knows more about these people than they know about him.

“Thought your sister was coming into town,” Prophet finally says. “Brother, John and Jenna are two very different names.” He stops. “Unless this is Jenna.”

The team all get speculative looks on their faces, and Mick almost chokes. John lets out a hearty laugh.

“No, mate. I’ve got a dick, same as you. Always had it, always will.”

The team all have halfway suppressed reactions to John’s vulgarity.

“Jenna was going to come with John, but she couldn’t make it,” Mick tries to explain. He’s telling the truth, even if he hadn’t known it was true the day before.

For a beat the silence is awkward. Mick knows if they were anywhere else, he would be facing a major interrogation.

“Happy birthday, man,” Coop finally says.

Gina and Prophet and Beth all quickly jump in, adding their well-wishes. Mick smiles widely. John mirrors his expression.

“ _Men,”_ John says, leaning in conspiratorially. “We’re twins after all.”

“Come and have a couple drinks with us,” Prophet says, already half leaning towards their both.

Mick and John meet eyes.

 _I could run. But you’ll still have to see them tomorrow_ , Mick reads in the twist of his brother’s lips.

 _I’d tackle you if you tried,_ he says with a raise of an eyebrow.

“Lead the way,” Mick says, gesturing with his glass.

His team steps forward, clearly keeping themselves from looking back to make sure that they’re following. John keeps in step with Mick, bumping his shoulder softly.

“Should I tell Chas to keep away?” John murmurs.

Mick shakes his head. Chas is his brother’s best mate, and he’ll be sober. Worst case scenario, he can pull John’s arse out of the fire. “Warn him first though, yeah?”

John leans away and doesn’t respond. Mick takes a half step in front of him to cover the text message he knows his brother is a about to send.

\--

This is weird, Prophet thinks as he slides into the booth next to Gina. Coop and Beth take the booth across from them.

This is really weird, he amends internally as he watches the _brothers_ simultaneously grab chairs and sit down at the open end.

Mick is one of his best friends. He knows about Prophet’s past and never judged him for it. They trust each other with their lives in the field. They spend most of their down time together outside of the field. But Mick apparently has a _twin brother_ he never thought to mention. And that makes Prophet remember everything he doesn’t know about his friend. And that worries him.

Mick and John both take a drink simultaneously.

“So what have you two been up to?” Gina throws out, faux casual.

Mick and John exchange a look and for the first time Prophet understands what people mean by twin telepathy. This is really fucking weird.

“Drinking,” John finally says with a raise of his glass.

“Yeah, me and Gina had some thoughts on birthday shots for Mick earlier,” Prophet says. He sounds awkward to his own ears, but nobody says anything about it.

Mick laughs. “Yeah, so did we. What are we on now?”

John swallows his gulp. “Finished the shots an hour or so ago. And I just finished my third beer.”

Mick swallows quickly and slams his glass onto the table. John smirks a little as he looks at his brother’s empty glass.

“Wait, how early did you guys start?” Beth says in disbelief, looking between the two men.

Mick clutches a hand to his chest in mock offense. “I’m offending by the implications of that question. We waited until five o’clock like civilized people.”

John snickers. “Tell that to the bottles of Jameson at your apartment.”

“One of those is yours,” Mick says accusingly before turning back to the rest of them. "Okay, so we didn't hit the _bars_ until 5 o'clock like civilized people."

Prophet blinks. Mick has never shown any real fondness or aptitude for drinking before, no more than the rest of them. But he’d apparently managed an entire bottle of Jameson and three beers since he’d last seen him, and Mick was still coherent. Mostly.

“Seems the party of two has expanded,” a dry, deep voice says from behind the brothers. Prophet turns to see a man as big as – if not bigger than – Coop with an impressive beard and a missing eyebrow.

“Chas!” Mick and John cry out simultaneously, both sporting face-splitting grins as they kick back their chairs.

Prophet realizes that Mick – and John – are definitely not as sober as they seem when they proceed to attach themselves to one side each of the man, clutching at him like limpets. The man – Chas, apparently – doesn’t even look surprised. He smiles bemusedly as he pats them both on the back. It’s actually a little funny how small they seem compared to him.

The smile fades as he looks around the table at clearly unfamiliar faces. Mick and John both peel themselves off, but stay very close to Chas. They’re smiling a little drunkenly and swaying, clearly having given up on the sober act. The switch is more than a little disconcerting.

Chas pushes the two men into their seats gently but firmly as he grabs his own chair. He grabs a pitcher of beer from another table and sits down between the brothers. He looks shockingly sober between them.

“So who’re your friends?” Prophet can’t tell if he’s addressing Mick or John.

“Not _my_ friends,” John says petulantly. “ _My_ friends are more fun.”

Mick sticks his tongue out. “ _My_ friends are plenty fun.”

“Are they now,” Chas says evenly. It’s not really a question.

Prophet knows that logically, John – Mick’s mysterious twin brother – should be more concerning. But something about the way the big man has places his arms on the table, firmly in front of the brothers, and is looking at each member of the team like he’s cataloging them is throwing Prophet off. Prophet’s got a nice buzz going, though, and he tries to pretend it’s just because having a sober guy around drunk people is always a little weird.

“This is Prophet, Gina, Coop, and Beth,” Mick lists off, waving to each of them in turn. “My _team_ ,” he adds proudly.

Chas nods and leans back and some of the tension fades away. He smiles a little. “We’ve heard about you guys. I’m Chas.”

“You work with John?” Coop asks, voice probing and soft.

John leans forward excitedly. “Chas is my oldest mate. He’s very helpful,” he adds as he pats the big man’s chest. Chas just looks amused.

“Mostly I make sure John remembers the words ‘food’ and ‘sleep’.”

John beams at the man. Mick laughs. Coop smiles a little, clearly recognizing the evasion for what it was, but appreciating the answer all the same.

The night progresses surprisingly well, Prophet thinks. Everyone’s been introduced, and even though it’s clear that John and Chas are, if not actively lying, at least hiding something. Mick seems to know what it is, but he also seems unperturbed by it, and so they follow his lead.

Prophet finds himself profiling Chas and John as he drinks more and more and his restraint dissolves one glass at a time.

Chas profiles like a bodyguard. He reacts quickly to loud noises, tracks John’s movements, listens to everything he says and everything that is said to him. But at the same time there’s something wrong with that label. He’s kinder than a bodyguard would be, more casual. He lets John touch him casually, bumping shoulders, and sometimes finishing each other’s stories. He drinks, but not to catch up to either of the twins. Prophet thinks Chas is probably the most sober person there, aside from Coop.

John is harder. Maybe because he looks so much like Mick. But he’s loud and brash and completely shameless in his flirting, calling Beth and Gina ‘love’ and winking. It does surprise Prophet a little when John turns his attentions on him and even Coop a little, but Chas pours him another beer and Mick calls him a drunk bastard and John laughs and stops. For all his extroversion, though, there’s that same reticence that’s in Mick. Neither of them talk about themselves.

3am and the bar’s closing and the seven of them stumble outside. It’s cold enough to sober Prophet up a little, but not freezing. Still, he pulls his coat tighter.

Beth and Gina share a cab, and Coop waves as he starts the walk back to his apartment two blocks away.

“Why didn’t you share a cab with the birds, eh?” John asks him, slurring a little. He’s half leaning on a wall and half leaning on Chas while he smokes a cigarette.

“I live on the opposite side of town,” Prophet answers. His words are a little slurred too, but John is worse. Maybe because of the accent, but probably the alcohol.

The four of them – Prophet, Mick, John, and Chas – are all waiting for cabs. It’s late, so it’s taking longer than usual. Mick huddles tighter in his coat and looks at his brother’s cigarette a little longingly.

“Fuck, mate. I wish I still smoked,” he sighs, tucking his hands into his pockets.

“If you wanna fag, it’s yours,” John answers, smirking with the cigarette dangling from his hand. He has a pack in his other hand. It takes Prophet a moment to translate the wording in his head.

“This is weird,” he finally says. “Really weird.”

“Eh?” John and Mick say at the same time. John tucks the pack away.

“That” – Prophet motions between the two of them – “that’s weird. _You’re_ weird.”

Chas scratches at his head under his cap. He looks even bigger standing than he did sitting, especially next to the twins, who aren’t exactly large men to begin with. “You guys _are_ a little off.”

John makes a face and flips him the bird. Mick laughs.

“John’s not suitable for polite company most of the time,” Mick says, still laughing. There’s something lurking in his expression, though, and Prophet remembers the not-lie that John and Chas have been telling all night.

“Yeah, sure,” he says doubtfully.

A cab pulls up before anyone can say anything else. He looks at the three men in askance, and John waves him on dismissively. He stumbles into Chas a little, but keeps hold of his cigarette.

“Go on, mate,” John says. “I’m not quite done here.”

“See you tomorrow, then,” he says to Mick. “It was nice to meet you two.”

They all wave goodbye as he gets in the cab and drives off. Prophet feels weird and doesn’t really know why. He still hasn’t figured it out by the time he falls in bed.

His last thought it regret for the killer hangover he knows he’ll have in the morning.

\--

Mick gets into work only 15 minutes late. Coop and Beth have been there for at least half an hour. Gina probably came in right on time. But Mick saw Prophet walk in 30 seconds before he did, so he figures he’s not too badly off. Coop will probably ask him to go a round, but he should be able to handle it. Probably.

His head may have been pounding this morning, but there are certain benefits to having a dabbler in the dark arts as a twin brother. (Chas had been the one to actually prepare the drought, but it was John’s recipe. Teamwork and all that.) Based on the looks of his team, however, he was the only one with such benefits.

He very maturely does not take advantage of the obvious hangovers. He’s possibly hoping to avoid or at least diminish the interrogation he knows to be coming.

“Morning,” he greets softly, setting down his satchel as he moves to his desk. “And how are we feeling?”

Prophet flips him the bird. Gina groans, carefully holding her head with one hand. Beth squeezes her eyes shut a little tighter. Coop just levels him an irritated glare.

“Brother, how are you not hungover?” Prophet grunts more than asks.

Mick shrugs, shuffling through the new papers on his desk. “Family hangover cure.”

“And you didn’t think to share?” Gina glares.

Mick winces.

“So. John. You have a twin brother. Good of you to mention. And why the hell is he blonde?” Beth asks, taking advantage of his silence and apparent guilt.

“Never came up,” Mick says, desperately looking for something important in the files to distract him. “And I dunno. Some freak genetic thing?”

Mick meets Beth’s gaze with a shrug. He’s not as good at lying as John is, he knows, but he’s better than everyone in the room. He keeps his posture loose, relaxed, but not clearly faked. Doesn’t make too much eye contact, but doesn’t refuse to meet anyone’s eyes either. He wants to lick his lips. Doesn’t.

Coop still narrows his eyes.

“You know, there’s no record of John as one of the Rawsons' children,” his boss says softly, easily. Like he’s talking to a suspect.

Mick doesn’t react to the bait. “He’s not a Rawson. We were adopted by different families.”

That seems to set everyone back a pace or two. The implications of that statement are more than a little appalling, Mick knows. Adoption means either abuse or being orphaned. Siblings, especially twins, being separated indicates a poor experience with the system. All of these things are true, but Mick doesn’t let the old hurts show on his face more than a little. He’s hoping they’ll read the tightness in his eyes and the little hunch in his shoulders and stop asking questions.

(If it were a simple case of ‘my mother died giving birth and then my father drank himself to death while whipping the absolute shite out of me and my brother before we got sent to an equally shitty orphanage before we got separated – me into a nice family, him into a not-so-nice one’ Mick wouldn’t want to talk about it. But it’s also a case of ‘my brother and his best mate investigate and fight against the supernatural and unexplainable, often leading to misunderstandings with the law’, so Mick _really_ doesn’t want to talk about it.)

“Oh,” Gina says. Beth bites her lip. Prophet offers a nod. Coop steeples his hands and looks at Mick until Mick looks away.

Nobody says anything else for a long time.

(It won’t be until lunch, when Coop and Mick go to pick up Chinese that Coop will ask if the younger man is okay. Mick will say yes, and Coop will only half believe him, but by then the focus will be on Mick’s shadowed past, and not his mysterious twin, and, well, Mick can live with that. Though he will call John and demand two bottles of Jameson and say that next year, they’re spending their birthday in Wales.)

**Author's Note:**

> I just couldn't get this idea out of my head. This one's a mostly light-hearted, fluffy, half-assed character(s) study. Depending on the reception and my ability to motivate myself, I might expand on the 'verse. Maybe have John get arrested, maybe have the BAU deal with something supernatural.
> 
> Either way, I hope you guys had as much fun reading this as I did writing it!


End file.
